Eaglets of a Nest
by Jadeah
Summary: Altair and Malik were even children once.
1. Chapter 1

**I know there's probably nine other stories like this with Altair and Malik when they were kids, but what can I say? Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to write Kadar (seeing as he died four chapters in with my High School fic). Anywho, enjoy!**

A tug on his sleeve roused him from his study of his own handy work on one of shirts, and he looked over to his younger brother, who was craning his head back to stare at something else. The nine year old's voice was still small, "Brother? Who is that?"

He didn't even bother looking. "Does it matter, Kadar?"

"But he's walking with the Grand Master," Kadar stated, still staring, "is he important?"

To that, Malik rolled his eyes. "Oh he's the Master's _new_ pupil, Altair..." _Damn, why can't I get this sleeve quite right? Sewing's deffinately a girl's job..._

"But don't you have to be really good or something to be his pupil?" Kadar wondered.

"When do you ever stop asking questions," Malik sighed, giving up on his horrid patch job- stupid training incident. "It's not that big a deal. He's just getting special treatment because his father died."

Kadar crossed his arms and looked away. "But that's not fair. But why doesn't he teach us?"

"Because we don't need help," Malik reasoned, maybe it was more to make himself feel a little better, "only novices do."

"And whose the other boy?" Kadar asked, leaning back a little as he returned to staring.

It wasn't too hard to guess. "The Master's _other_ new pupil, Abbas."

"And why is he the Grand Master's student?" His brother seemed to be guessing already.

"Because his father left or something like that, no one's really sure," Malik waved off it off as unimportant. Actually, next to all of it was.

Though clearly Kadar didn't think so. "It's still not fair. They get this attention."

"It's not worth getting worked up over," Malik told him.

After that, Kadar took to crossing his arms and pouting, grumbling time to time on how it really wasn't fair. Oh well. He'd just have to get over it.

With that thought, Malik glanced back and narrowed his eyes a little at Altair. Just because he told his brother to get over it, didn't mean he'd actually follow up on that advice himself. _Nope, I'm not letting some pampered student of the Master's get ahead easy._

* * *

It was perhaps a week later when a fight broke out during training, and can you guess with who? Altair and Abbas of course. Malik had been waiting for his turn to spar when he had heard that this match would be with real swords, rather than the wooden training ones. Of course, he was interested. It wasn't every day that they were allowed to use real weapons. He didn't want to miss this.

Even from where he stood, he heard Abbas say, "Cunning, that should suit you, Altair. You are cunning and treacherous." Something about those words almost sounded hostile. But the fighting instructor, Labib, didn't seem to notice.

Actually, if Malik were to discribe Labib, he would say he seemed excited. Maybe it had something to do with wooden sword sparring matches seemed so utterly dull and boring to him- a full trained assassin- that the idea of real weapons just made him eager. That was probably correct too.

But what of Altair? When he saw his face, he immediately could see the illness that seemed to form. Was this kid actually scared or something? He was staring up at Labib, giving him this pleading look that was completely ignored. In fact, he broke out into a sweat, his lighter hair sticking to his forehead a little.

Other students were gathering to watch this fight in the training quadrangle. Malik could only barely see it though, being shorter than some of the other twelve year old students, until he shouldered his way to the front. There he saw the intensity of scene, the tention crackling between Altair and Abbas like lightning. Abbas's glare didn't seem like something you would give a brother. But rather an enemy.

Altair didn't even seem up for the fight. Malik caught him swallowing thickly before saying, "Brother, what I said last night, I-"

"_Do not call me 'brother'_!" Abbas's screaming, and partly cracking, voice echoed off the walls before he charged at him. If they didn't have everyone's attention, they did now, Malik even caught sight of Al Mualim watching from his window. There were more people coming as well. And Labib seemed puzzled.

Abbas was attacking furiously, and Altair just seemed to barely try dodging and blocking. Again, the latter tried to quell the anger of his fellow student, "No Abbas!"

When Abbas made an attempt to stab Altair, his target was quick to jump to the side, Labib tried to get things under continue. "Now Abbas..."

"He means to kill me, Master!" Altair shouted, looking on the verge of wetting himself.

Of course, does Labib seem to care, or seem to be convinced? Nope. "Don't be dramatic, child. You should learn from your brother's commitment."

Abbas's strikes seemed to puntuate his words. "_I am not. His. Brother_."

"I told you to help you," Altair nearly shrieked. Malik didn't know if he should find the fight amusing or troubling. Clearly there was more to it that met the eye.

"No," Abbas screamed, "you lied!" His next strike knocked Altair back into the fence, which he almost fell over, with a loud chime of the clashing steel. For a second afterwards, Malik's ear rang.

And now, more Assassins were gathering. Not only students, but now older ones who seemed to be practicing their skills. Some seemed worried while others watched with interest. Some of the students cheered this fight on.

"Defend, Altair, defend!" Labib's voice boomed. Damn he seemed excited about this. It must be pretty boring training novices then.

Altair followed this advice and fought back until he was back in the center of the quadrangle again. He hissed, "I told the truth," and their swords clashed against each other, they were really close now. "I told you the truth to end your suffering, just as I would have wanted mine ending."

"You lied to bring shame upon me!" Abbas snapped, and stepped back to take a pouncing position. His weight shifting back and his sword pointed forward, the blade quivering in the student's shaking grip.

"_No!_" Altair barely had time to dodge. He tried to fall back, but this proved to be a mistake as the blade's tip caught up and managed to nick him in the side. Malik blinked and next thing he knew, Altair's hand was to his side, staring with pleading eyes at Labib- but once more ignored. He pulled his hand away, and Malik saw the blood there, on his hand and staining his robes. He held out his bloodied hand to Abbas, "Stop this, Abbas, I spoke the truth in the hope to bring you comfort."

"Comfort," Abbas was addressing the crowd now, "to bring me _comfort_ he tells me my father killed himself."

It seemed like the everyone had fallen dead silent. Malik was even was speechless- not that he had been saying anything to begin with. He had heard the bickering and arguments thoughout the whole fight and he didn't know what sort of thing would have someone so worked up, but this was clearly the answer.

But at last, Labib got his head out of the gutter and saw what was happening. "_Abbas!_ _Altair!_" But it was too late, the fighting had started again. Their swords met with a clang.

"I thought-"

"You thought you would bring shame upon me," Abbas shrieked, his voice was REALLY cracking up (to the point where it could have been humorous if the situation wasn't this serious) at this point, and almost everyone could see the tears running down his face as he circled Altair. When he came at him, he swung his sword wildly, madly, in this, Altair managed to crouch and strike at Abbas's arm, opening a wound.

The sight of blood startled Malik as much the second time as the first.

But Abbas let out a catterwail of a cry and went at Altair again, who ducked under his blade and disbalanced him. Now they both fell to the dirt and grappled, a mess of screaming bloody boys trying to practically kill each other. Malik watched as Abbas jammed his thumb into the wound on Altair's side, causing his victim to practically scream. Then he was holding a knife and pressing it to Altair's neck, the tears running thick down his cheeks as he threatened to kill Altair right then and there.

"_Abbas!_" The order came. Not from Labib, but rather Al Mualim, who was still at his window. "Put away the knife at once!"

It seemed like the antagonised student's voice grew really small and desperate, "Not until he admits!"

"Admits what?" Altair argued as he wriggled against the firm grip.

Labib climbed over the fence and held his hands out to Abbas, "Now, Abbas. Do as the Master says."

The next words came out in a snarl, "Come any closer and I'll carve him!"

Of course, this was enough to stop the instructor where he stood, not wanting to risk a student's life. Everyone was on edge, and Malik could only watch on the sidelines to see how this would turn out.

"He'll put you in the cells for this, Abbas," Labib told him. "This is no way for the Order to behave. Look, there are civilians here from the villiage. Word will spread." Were there really people from the village? Malik glanced back to see it true.

Abbas was crying now. "I don't care. He needs to say it. He needs to say he lied about my father."

"What lie," the intructor looked from one to the other with confusion. Obviously he hadn't been listening as well.

"He told me my father killed himself." Abbas sobbed, "That he came to Altaïr's quarters to say sorry, then slashed his own throat. But he _lied_. My father did not kill himself. He left the Brotherhood. That was his apology. Now tell me you lied." He pointed the dagger into Altair's neck, drawing more blood.

"Abbas, stop this!" Al Mualim ordered once more. Malik realized just how serious this must be if the student was challenging the Grand Master. Or he was just very much insane.

"Altair, did you lie," Labib asked, trying to get an answer to settle all of this.

The whole courtyard went silent as everyone waited for Altair to answer.

"Yes," the boy said with defeat, "I did lie..."

It was after that that Abbas sat up on his knees, the weight of the situation seemed be catching up to him, as he dropped the dagger in his hand. It clattered on the ground and he was weeping once more. Even while he weeped, Labib roughly tugged him up by the arm and handed him over to a couple of guards. And a moment later, Altair was too grabbed and taken away to where Malik guessed was the cells.

After all of this, Malik could only stare at the blood stains in the dirt and the blood stained swords and dagger left in the quadrangle. Then over to Labib. Maybe that training instructor could have stopped this if he had called the fight when Altair was first nicked.

* * *

That night, when he returned to the room he shared with his father and Kadar, he told them about the fight- chatty as most children are. He still couldn't believe what he had seen. The intensity of the fight. But there was some question he still wondered.

"Father, what happened to Altair's father?"

His dad, Faheem, looked down at his lap and sighed. "You remember the siege, Malik. It was almost a year ago..."

True it couldn't be much longer than that. He nodded.

"Well, Abbas's father was a spy then, and we had our plan to scare away the invaders." He looked from one son to the other as even Kadar sat up and listened. "Umar, Altair's father, snuck into the camp of the invaders and planned a letter and dagger, next dagger would be in the man's groin." Kadar snickered. "It would have worked if his target didn't wake and sound the alarm. To escape, he had to kill a General. They found Ahmet then and tortured the information out of him. The next morning, they sent a messanger and an executioner with Ahmet, and threatened to kill him if we didn't give them Umar to kill."

"And that was it?" Malik asked, he knew he had been hiding then, trying to keep Kadar with him.

"Not exactly," Faheem shook his head, "Al Mualim almost didn't let Umar go. But it was both the man's willingness and the threat of Masyaf starving that got him to go and face his death. They let Ahmet go, and they killed Umar."

Kadar's eyebrows raised, "Did you... did you watch?"

Their dad's gaze dropped back down. "...I wish I hadn't..." He glanced out the window and turned away on his side. "Go to sleep now. It's getting late."

Though Malik did as asked and tried to go to sleep, his thoughts were still swarming. His did really didn't seem to like talking about this. But when he was about to press his questions, he discovered his dad was already asleep, if not then he was a very good faker. So he stared at the ceiling all night. "I wonder what really happened to Abbas's father, then..."

Clearly, his dad wasn't asleep, because he answered, "He left the Order... Now really, go to sleep, Malik..."

**Tahdah! Tell me what you think, guys! I was rereading that piece of junk book, The Last Crusade, to get the Altair and Abbas fight correct. Of course, we have Malik as a bystander. I also learned, more or less, that unlike a lot of people claim, Malik's dad was very much alive around this time or so- unless, you know, he was killed on a mission- and not dead like a lot of people say.  
Anyways, don't yell at me for next to copying the fight, I tried not to. But I gotta keep the words and actions.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I didn't think I'd get any reviews on this fic, so thanks! I'm going to say now that I'll continue. I wasn't so sure at first, but I will.**

It was a full month later until Malik heard of Altair and Abbas again -no one really liked to speak of it for some reason. And it was news that they were being let out of the cells.

In a sense, Malik almost felt sorry for them when he heard about how the Master decided the punishment was a little harsh. But in a different sense, he almost envied them. He always clung to the rules like they were a raft, and had never been punished for much of anything. He didn't exactly know how he would be able to deal with a month down in the dungeon.

So anyways, the first place Malik ended up encountering Altair was at he docks. Altair was crouching at the edge staring into the water. He kneeled down beside him and asked, "What are you doing?"

Altair shrugged. "I dropped something, and I was just trying to see if I could find it."

"Eh probably gone by now," Malik waved off. "Haven't you ever heard of the story about Nezeem?"

"Nezeem?" Altair gave him a puzzled look.

Of course, Malik was totally making this up. But it was funny messing with this guy's head. "Yeah. He's a sea monster who started eating everything that went in the water. No one knew he was there until a couple weeks ago."

"A sea monster, really?"

"Oh yes, a serpent as big as the fortress!" Malik extended his arms as he said that. "With teeth so sharp and pointy that the slightest brush will slice your skin."

The younger shook his head. "You're making this up."

"No I'm not." Malik disagreed.

"Prove it!"

He pulled up the leg of his pants to reveal a wrapping of bandages. Really it came from falling down on some rocks, but for all intents and purposes, he changed the story. "See this? I was swimming the other day and Nezeem nearly took my leg off. I barely made it out alive."

"There's no way," Altair said, shakin his head.

"Is too!"

* * *

Altair stood stiffly in training that day. He was MORTIFIED by what Malik told him. So why not he ask someone else about Nezeem? Well, for one it... okay he had no excuse. But he was a stubborn kid.

Perhaps he could ask that little kid who was in the training group today, Kadar. The youngest guy here, probably wouldn't judge him too severely and probably admire him for knowing something like this. If it were true that is. Which he hoped it wasn't.

"Hey, um, Kadar?"

"Yes?" The little kid looked up with pale blue eyes narrowed, as the sun was on his face.

Altair fidgited. "Do you think there's a sea monster in the river eating people?"

Silence. It lasted for two minutes at least, then Kadar laughed.

He was laughing _at_ him!

"That's crazy! Sea monsters in the river?" Kadar managed to say. "I mean, I can see being scared of the river because people freeze and stuff. But this is just weird! Who'd tell you something like that?"

"You brot-" Altair stopped and back petalled. "Wait, you can freeze to death in water?"

"Uh-huh," Kadar nodded. "Your body gets really cold, but you're not shivering or anything and so you die."

Okay, screw what Malik said, THAT was _TERRIFYING_!

**Yeah, I was never too clear on who was older, Altair or Malik. So I'm just guessing (and the wiki gives me no help either (both are born the same year)).**

**Anyways, there are many explanations as to why Altair's can't/is afraid to swim. Mine is that Kadar or Malik or someone freaked him out when he was a kid by telling him all the scary ways you can die by water.**


	3. Chapter 3

As the month went by since Altair's release, he slowly came to realize how much he actually missed his father. But being how he was, he wouldn't accept that. Nope, his dad walked to his death with no thought of him what so ever. He was a stupid, blind man. He never even said goodbye...

These unnerving thoughts came to him during one of the practicing sessions out in the courtyard. He was jabbing at a straw and burlap dummy with a wooden sword (after his fight with Abbas, he decided he wanted to stay away from a real weapon a bit longer) when he looked over and saw Malik and Kadar being shown some different maneuvers by their father, Faheem.

Now it's not like he was very well acquainted with their father either. There was maybe one instance where he ever spoke to him and that was when he was looking for the Master. Does it make a difference? It's not like he was his kid. He shouldn't have to feel so sad about it.

But he did. And he did because he was jealous. Not once did Umar ever try to teach him anything; not like Faheem, who went out of his way to scrap up some time to teach his sons something. Even if he had one more kid, he found time for them both. What was his dad's excuse? He only had Altair and he failed to speak to him often. Some dad he was. Looking back to those nights after he was gone, he wished he had just gone to sleep instead of wasting his time hoping that his dad would walk in exhausted because he had been on a mission.

Altair shook his head. No, he wasn't alone, he had Al Mualim. Well... sort of. The Master was the closest thing to a father he's ever had. Which, yet again, brings him to feel envious of Malik and Kadar for having a real father and not some teacher who happened to be looking out for them.

_If only they knew what it felt like, to have that taken away from them..._

* * *

It was a couple weeks later, deep into the autumn months, when a messenger came to Masyaf. He was alone, covered in blood, and breathing heaily. Altair saw him rush up the stairs to Al Mualim's study, and there he stood under the balcony listening.

"Amen, you're back so early. Was your mission successful?"

"M-master... Forgive me, I have failed you. We were discovered before we could reach our target. Faheem, he..."

"He is dead?"

"I do believe so... He ran our target. Stubborn as he was, he would not just let him get away. He told me to get out while I could and at least someone could tell you how terribly we have failed. I was a coward. I should not have ran, I could have helped him."

There was a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Altair looked up to see Faheem's battered face. Blood trailed from the corner of his mouth, and his nose was crooked now to the left. The front of his robes were dark and reaked of iron from the dried blood. His hand was craddling his ribs. Shivers shook his body, as if he was freezing.

It was almost like seeing a walking corpse.

Altair didn't believe it. "Y-you're alive!"

Faheem only gave him a short glance, his swollen lip was trembling. When he spoke, it sounded raw and weak, as if his vocal cords were torn. "Did Amen make it here safely?"

He nodded. "He's upstairs speaking with Al Mualim."

The Assassin nodded and started forward on unsteady legs. The very way he clutched the railing of the staircase gave away how unsteady he was. And for a moment, Altair wanted to rush up to help him. But he didn't, he stayed where he stood, and listened.

"Master, I have nothing to say for our mistake. It was my fault entirely."

"No, do not blame yourself."

"Faheem. But we were sure you were dead."

"I finished our mission. The target is dead. And I am glad to see Amen managed to get here and tell you what happened."

"Come here, tell me what happened."

"I would like to hear this as well... Oh Allah! Look at you! How did you not think to see a doctor!"

"I will be fine... really, I-"

"No excuses, this is serious. You can tell us later, but now we need to see to these injuries."

"Yes... Master..."

"Come, Faheem. I will bring you to a doctor."

And that's when Kadar came running in with Malik behind him, they were excited. They brushed just past Altair as Kadar said, "Where's father? I heard he's returned."

There, almost on cue, Amen - with Faheem leaning heavily on his shoulder - came down the steps. The two stood staring with utter shock, and then they rushed up and started swarming them with questions. Altair followed to the doctor's room before hearing Amen snap, "Can you two give him some space? He needs help, not tw boys interrogating him."

Faheem sighed and said, "It is fine, let them." He smiled a fairly cheery smile and added, "besides, I have a lot to tell them."

* * *

For the rest of the day, Malik and Kadar sat with their father. Mainly that time was consumed watching the doctor tending to a very large wound in his ribs. Every time the wound was touched, a spark of pain would flash across their father's face. The always strong man they knew had become so weakened. It was scary, and they were both worried.

It wasn't until later, when twilight stained the sky dark hues of blues and reds and violets, that they were able to speak to their father. Faheem was laying back on the bed, unable to sit up, so they sat on either side of him. His skin, usually the olive color all three shared, was so unnaturally pale. But his eyes still glittered with life; those very same eyes that Malik took after, shape and color, still were as lively as he left. He was determined to hang onto life.

Faheem gave them both a smile, the same crooked smile they always saw on his scruffy face when he saw them. "You both have grown so much. I wish your mother could be here to see you."

Their mother. Malik barely remembered her. He did recall her long black hair, pale blue eyes (which Kadar took after), and hold he used to cling to her soft hand when he was much younger. He remembered that she smelled of bread and wood smoke. And there was that lullaby she used to sing...

"Kadar, I could have sworn you were shorter before I left." Their father said.

His brother puffed out his chest, "I'm going to be as good as you some day."

"I hope so," he said. Then his hands undid a the leather necklace around his neck; on it hung a ring with a sword craved into it. He held it up to the candle light, and the flames reflected on the tarnished metal. With a firm hand, he pressed it into Kadar's hand. "You remember the story about how my father gave me the same ring, and his father made it? I want you to have it now, son. Take good care of it, understand?"

Kadar nodded and tied the two ends of the cord, "Yes, father, I do."

Malik stared at that ring a little sadly, he had always wanted it. And now his brother had it.

Faheem then loosely grabbed Malik's forearm. "And you, Malik, be sure to take care of your brother. He is all you have, do not ever let him go. And remember everything I have taught you."

"Yes, father." Malik had turned his gaze down at his lap.

"Look at me, please. This is important." Malik met his stare. "Never forget who you are, and never forget what you fight for. You're the oldest, and so it is your responcibily to make sure that Kadar is safe. Watch out for him, and yourself. Alright?"

Malik nodded. "I understand."

"You two know I love you, more than any father would ever care to tell, and I am proud of both of you. Neither of you forget that, no matter what happens. Never forget that I did everything I have because I cared about you. And that I want you both to grow into confident men some day. If I cannot see that day in person, do not be sad. I will have seen the day with your mother, and we both will be proud when it does."

Kadar sniffled, and then quickly, he wrapped his arms around Faheem's chest. "I love you too, father!"

Faheem smiled and patted Kadar's head before looking over to Malik, who leaned in and rung his own arms around him. And for the longest time they didn't move. To the point where the two boys fell asleep there curled up against their father.

* * *

But Malik awoke that morning to Kadar shaking his shoulder. "Malik! Malik! Dad's not waking up! Dad's not waking up!"

Confused, he looked at his panicked brother. "I wouldn't either... It's too early."

"But Malik," Kadar nearly whined, "I think it's bad!"

"If you're so worried then find the doctor..."

Kadar then ran out, and Malik sat up. His father appeared peacefully asleep, a slight smile on his face. He shook his head and nudged his dad's shoulder. "Dad, wake up. It's morning." No responce. Faheem didn't move. "Dad, come on. You're scaring Kadar, stop it." Still nothing. "This is not funny dad! Stop trying to scare us!" Nothing at all. Malik grabbed his dad's wrist when he felt cold skin. That wasn't right. Normally his father's hands were warm. They always were. He felt fer begin to knawl inside him and he started to shake his father's shoulders. "Dad! Wake up! Come on! Wake up!" As he did, Faheem's head lulled back.

Wided with utter dispair, Malik got up and shouted out into the hall, "Someone get the doctor!" But no one was up or out in the halls. Malik charged out and started searching for help when he ran right into Altair. He was breathing heavily now, and he couldn't find the voice to speak.

"Why are you shouting? It's too early..." Altair grumbled.

"My father! He's not waking up," Malik said quickly. "I think he might be sick or something!"

Altair didn't seem convinced. "I doubt he's sick."

"Then come with me and I'll show you!"

They went back the room and Altair sat up on the side of the bed and looked at Faheem a moment before shaking his head. "This isn't good..."

"What? What is it?" Malik said with that same panic that Kadar had.

"He-"

"Out of the way, I need to see to this," said the doctor as he came in and started seeing to Faheem. It was after a minute that he pulled away and looked down.

"Well?" Malik asked, desperate for an answer. "Is he going to be alright?"

The doctor looked up and said quietly, "No... I am afraid he won't."

"Will he wake up soon?" Kadar asked.

"He won't. He's gone."

"But he's right here, how can he be gone," Kadar asked, but already, Malik was starting to get the message. He didn't want to though and denied it in his head. _No. No no no no no no! NO! It can't be true!_

The doctor could not have been any more blunt then. "He is dead, boy! Don't you understand!"

Kadar took a step back. "No... He... he can't be... Father's not..."

"I am sorry, boy, but I'm not going to lie. He's gone. Best you accept that now."

Tears started to come to Kadar's eyes, and he screamed, "You're lying!" Then he ran right out of the room.

The doctor and Altair both looked over to Malik now. But he was too shocked to speak. He wasn't aware that his knees had lost all strength or that his vision faded out. He didn't know until he woke up with those two plus Al Mualim standing over him.

"Are you alright, child?" The Master asked.

Malik nodded and looked down. "I thought I dreamed that my father died..." He looked either way to see the empty doctor's room. "Is father still on his mission? Where is he?"

Mualim looked at him sympathetically. "I am sorry, truly. Faheem's injuries were too great for him, he died in his sleep last night."

That's when the tears started to come. Malik clenched his fists and shouted, "No! He's not dead! He can't be! Not father!"

"I wish I could say it wasn't either, but it is," the Master said, "you must learn to accept this, Malik. It will be much less painful now than later."

Malik got up and ran out of the room. He just wanted to get away, he didn't want to face what was true. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Not until he ran all the way down to the river and was crouched by the water for a good long five hours. Only then did he finally face the facts and shuffle back up the ravine to the castle. In their room, he found his brother laying on his bed with a blank, dead look in his watery eyes.

"Why did he have to die?" Kadar asked, his voice scratchy and quiet. "Why father? He never did anything wrong... He didn't deserve to die..."

Malik sighed, he hadn't an answer for the question. But there he remembered his father's request. He wouldn't lose Kadar. He wouldn't let that happen. Ever.

* * *

At Faheem's funeral, Altair stood in the crowd. There he watched Malik and Kadar both weeping as their father was buried. And there he felt a sudden pain of guilt as he remembered...

He was the one who wished for this to happen...

**Oh. My. God... So much writing in one night. Hope you guys like it, because I nearly cried twice while writing this.**

**I know I should be working on "You Novice" and "AC High School" but I've been stuck on the next chapters to thoses, so I thought I would try to write another chapter of this.**

**Don't forget to review!**


	4. Chapter 4

It was one day in the training grounds. They might as well have been in a fire, because the sun-baked the ground and anyone outside. Even if it were unforgivingly hot that day, the students were still outside, training as always.

Malik was leaning against the wall, in the narrow strip of shade. Soon though, the sun would peak and that shade would be gone and the castle would offer some after a while longer. His hands were loosely clutching the hilt of the wooden sword. It's not like he wanted to train today. It was too hot and he was still grieving.

But according to Labib, thirteen meant you were old enough to get over your personal issues and train. There was no break for him.

And there was poor Kadar... Malik had watched him this entire time. It's not like he was a good fighter to begin with, but Kadar even struggled in a couple of sparring matches until Altair got the better of him. But by then, the eleven year old was panting and drenched in sweat.

Labib sighed, "Why not you take a break, boy."

To the offer, Kadar nodded and shuffled towards Malik, and sunk to a sit. His neck and cheeks were bright red with a sun burn, and the back of his shirt clung to his skin. Flush from exertion, he let his head rest against the wall. "This is just unfair..."

Though Malik would have liked to give Kadar some encouragement, he couldn't conjure up anything to even fake being happy. Besides, he couldn't say much of anything before Labib called him over to get some sparring done.

He climbed over the wooden boards around the sparring quadrangle and lifted up the training sword to Altair. Of course, the other was more up to the challenge than him.

The wooden replica swords smacked with a loud _bonk_ as the match begun. Altair dove right in, and Malik leapt back to dodge it, his back hitting the fence. He tried to find a way out of the edge, but there was no way around the other student. He was effectively cornered and put on the defensive. That wasn't for long before his training sword was knocked right out of his hands, and it flew to the other side of the space, hitting the fence with a smack before landing in the dust.

Altair lowered his training sword and said fairly bluntly, "You are terrible at this."

To that, Malik felt prickling anger. He snapped back, "It's easy for you! You're father died and you got trained by Al Mualim!"

"It's not my fault that he didn't want to train you," the other said foully. "Maybe you're just not worth the trouble."

Angry and easily set off, he stormed over to his wooden sword and picked it up before charging at Altair in hopes of smacking him across his smug face with it. But Altair effortlessly lifted up his hand and caught Malik mid run by the face. Malik's feet shot out in front of him and he hit the dirt. Before he could get up and try to clobber him again, he was pinned down by Altair's foot.

Labib seemed a bit unsure, "This better not result in another issue, Altair."

"It won't be," he said back to the instructor. Then he leaned down, foot still on Malik's chest, and said, "If you want, I can knock you down into the dust again."

"Just get off of me!" Malik growled.

"Don't give me venom for beating you fair and square," he said unamused, "if you suck up your pride and ask me nicely, then I'll let you go."

Okay, so this was a challenge of pride. Malik got that. But damn it, he wasn't going to let that go so easily, pride and Kadar were the two things he had left. He gripped Altair's ankle tightly and tried to push him off, but it was in vain.

"You're going to suffocate me, you big oaf! Get off of me!" Malik demanded, and once more he tried unsuccessfully to push him off.

"Absolutely pathetic," Altair said, shaking his head. "I thought you would be a bit more of a challenge, but I guess I am wrong."

"Get off!"

Altair sighed. "You know, I think I understand. Your dad made you strong, and now he's gone, so you have to act all tough to conpensate."

"How could you ever understand," Malik hissed. "You don't even know how this feels in the slightest!"

"And how could I not," he questioned.

"Because you don't have a little brother!"

It seemed as thought Altair had no responce to that. For a moment he stared at Malik hard, then he eased off and let him go. He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry."

But Malik pushed past him and climbed over the fence with a sharp, "Just leave me alone!"

* * *

Kadar took a shallow breath, staring out the window in he and his brother's room. The sky dark now and the heat from today gone very quickly. It was cold now. His blanket was slung over his shoulders for warmth. "Brother, what was all that about during training today?"

His brother was laying on his side, facing away. "Nothing. Just go to sleep."

"But it was," Kadar disagreed, "You said Altair couldn't fight well in a spar. I can see him beating me, but you too? I think I even did better."

"It's _nothing_, Kadar. Go to sleep."

"Fine..." He lowered his chin down on his crossed arms as he continued to stare out the open window. Maybe if Malik wouldn't tell him, then Altair would.

**I guess that's about when the bitterness started between Altair and Malik. As a result of one day, Kadar decided to start looking to Altair for help more than his brother. *shrugs* I dunno.**

**As always, don't forget to review!**


	5. Chapter 5

A wind storm had swept through Masyaf one night, toppling over the weaker structures down in the village. They needed all the hands they could get, and so Al Mualim sent down what available assassins he had to help fix the damages. Among them was Altair, now thirteen, who was told to pick up broken remains of merchant stalls in the streets. He did the job with little interest, dropping chunks of wood into the basket as he continued around.

In the back of his mind, he found himself complaining. He was here, helping with clean-up duty, _and Malik..._ He shook his head and resisted the temptation to kick his basket over. Malik, for unexplained reasons, got sent out to Damascus on some assignment. He asked all around, but no one knew why the master sent him out there alone.

Yes, that's correct, alone. Kadar was told to stay in Masyaf. And said boy followed Altair around now like a hungry dog on the prowl for free hand-outs. He wasn't helping, just watching. But this didn't bother him as much as the other issue. He felt irritated. What could it be that he couldn't be sent to handle it?

Some pondering brought him with the hope that it was something so simple that it would be a waste to send him. After all, Altair was sure that he was far superior to the hot-headed Malik.

Since their sword fight a half-year ago, Malik became just all the more irritable. It was enough to convince Kadar that Altair was more mature, leading to his duckling-like stalking habits. In fact, over the past six months, Altair tallied up that Malik went on a tangent at least thirteen times. Clearly whatever job he was sent on would have to be simple. Simple and not detrimental to the order.

Altair smirked to himself upon that thought. Yes, that just had to be it. Al Mualim didn't send him on the assignment because it would be a waste of talent. A massive waste. With a confident grin, he picked up another chunk of wood from the shattered remains of some poor fool's stand to add to the basket.

"When do you think Malik will get home?" Kadar asked him, sitting against the wall with his arms hugging his knees.

Shrugging, Altair stopped working a moment and leaned against the wall. "I haven't a clue. It could be days or weeks depending on what he's doing."

"I hope he's alright." The younger brother of the absent novice mumbled.

"I doubt the master would send him out on anything dangerous." Altair assured. "He seems a bit too high strung and hot headed to handle a real assignment."

Kadar looked with a quizzical expression, his eyebrows arched to meet at the inner corners. "Have _you_ been on any assignments?"

He waved him off casually, "Plenty. More than I care to count." Of course he knew how many, seven, but he just wanted to show off a little. The younger kid was easy to make an impression on. "Like one time I-" SMACK! "-AGH!" He whipped around to see Abbas with a rock in hand, tossing it in his palm.

"Quit laying around," he said sharply, "we're supposed to be helping, not striking a conversation."

Altair narrowed his eyes, "As if you know the difference."

"Better than you," he said, then threw the next rock at him, but this time Altair caught it.

Hand stinging, he dropped the stone and watched Abbas walk away.

"Is he jealous or something," Kadar asked, staring down where the other student had been.

"Probably," Altair spoke in a grumble. He then went to the front gate to pick up what he could find there, while Kadar got up and trailed behind him. Standing there, he could see out into the desert, it seemed so unforgiving. Heat radiated off the sand, making shapes and illusions on the horizon.

Kadar squinted, "Is that... Malik?" His eyes went wide and he tugged on Altair's sleeve, "He's coming back!"

But Altair couldn't see him. He was staring right out in front of him, and he shook his head. "You're probably seeing things."

"No! Not there!" He pointed off somewhere to the left. "There! See?"

Altair stared out where Kadar indicated, and sure enough, there was something coming back. But he could only really see a horse. From his perspective, that horse was no larger than his chewed up thumb nail. He had his doubts that it was Malik though. "Probably not. We would be able to see him by now."

But sure enough, as the horse drew closer, he could better see the rider hunched over and limply laying against the horse's neck. Soon he could make out the gray hood, or the back of it, and the rider's loosely coiled fingers around the reins - the other hand was obscured from view. The foot on the side facing them was half out of the stirrup, ready to slip right out. And as the horse continued to jostle the rider in it's steady walk, the foot slipped out and hung rather limply at the horse's side. Brown boot a contrast against gray hair. With his foot dislodged, the rider slipped to one side, the other, and fell to the sand with an ungracious thud.

Kadar met Altair's startled glance before they rushed over to the fallen rider, where a small amount of blood was starting to seep into the sand. He was face down until Altair rolled him on his back, and there he was met with Malik's flushed, unalert face. His hand, before concealed from view, was holding a wound on his ribs, where blood had bloomed in a large splash of crimson.

They spent no time pulling Malik up from the sand and holding his arms over their shoulders. For the first two steps, Malik tried to walk it seemed, but he quickly lost his footing and his feet didn't move any more, and trailed behind to score the sand. His head lulled forward, putting pressure on his windpipe enough to turn his shallow breaths into slight wheezing. Malik's bloodied hand clenched at Altair's shoulder once, a weak squeeze - whether in pain or irritation, Altair wasn't sure - that was enough to prove he was still very much alive.

It wasn't far before one of the Master Assassins saw them and approached. Amen to be exact. He seemed concerned to say the least. "What's wrong?" He asked, staring at the limp boy being held up by the arms, though not registering who he was.

Kadar seemed genuinely scared when he said almost pathetically, "Malik's hurt, please, you have to help, I don't think we can get him up the hill on our own."

There was no hesitation in the man's actions that Altair could see, it was as if the man was acting as a stand in for Faheem. He had been ever since... the incident. Quickly, he took Malik from their hold and laid him carefully on the ground. A simple touch to the forehead told wonders apparently. "It seems like a fever, but at this rate he might die of thirst." Then he evaluated the wound, going over it with calloused fingertips, "this is not too deep, but he did bleed quite a bit, I think that might be of concern." With that, he scooped Malik up and started up towards the castle with Altair and Kadar in tow.

It didn't take too long to get a doctor, but they still had to wait quite some time before Kadar built up enough nerve to walk in and asked, "Will he be alright?"

The doctor gave Kadar an unamused glance. "You are his brother, correct?"

Kadar nodded, though looked a bit nervous to Altair.

"Your brother is a lucky one I must say," he said, "had he arrived much later then he might not have made it. A high fever and blood loss are sometimes enough to put even the strongest of men down."

"So he's going to be alright?" Kadar asked again.

"He should recover to full health if given the time to rest," the doctor explained.

Altair stared at Malik, who laid on the bed not even sweating anymore. "But how did he get like this?"

"I assume he just over-heated and got sick from the sun," was the explanation "if you stay outside for too long without any water, it can make you ill and even kill you."

The two boys nodded, this new information scary to them.

* * *

Kadar remained seated beside Malik on the bed. He was too scared to fall asleep. What if he fell asleep and Malik left him just like their father did. He didn't want that to happen, he couldn't let that happen again.

It was late. His pale blue-gray eyes, already used to the darkness of the room, made out the shape of Altair asleep in a chairs, the side of his head against the wall. The older student's nasally snoring dwarfed Kadar's breathing, and the fretful grunts and groans from a restless Malik. Those noises, disturbing to some, were comfort to the youngest. It at least told him that his brother was alive.

For a moment, Kadar dared to look at Malik's side. The bandages taken off to allow the wound to get air. The doctor had cauterized the wound shut. This left a dark line where the two edges were sealed. According to the doctor, he needed to keep still so that it wouldn't reopen.

...

Kadar sat up with a start as he quickly realized that he fell asleep. He looked right over to Malik, who was still there. Still and silent. It make the younger scared as he quickly shook his brother's shoulder. He pleaded, voice dripping with panic, "Please wake up. Please please _please_ wake up!"

In response, Malik groaned lowly, but made no effort to push Kadar's hands off.

"Malik?" Kadar sniffled.

His brother's face only barely turned, but dark eyes fell on him. "Kadar... I..."

He clenched his brother's sleeve. "What is it?"

"Get off of me," he grumbled, then shook his shoulder to dislodge the eleven-year-old's hands, but as a result, the palms slid down and pinched the skin on his arms to the hard bed. Malik got up quickly, staggering a bit, with a loud "ouch!" as he rubbed his arm. But a moment later, his eyes flashed in pain as the cauterized wound reopened, and fresh blood spread on the fresh bandages - the doctor probably put them on while Kadar was sleeping.

Kadar leaped up and ran out to find the doctor. Said bitter man was at breakfast, and was just biting into some bread when the child came up to him and said, "The wound! The wound opened up!" Wrist snatched, the doctor wasn't even given a chance to put the bread down, so he held it between his teeth as he was dragged the room to see to Malik.

Of course, Kadar's brother was sitting on the bed now, cradling the wound in his hands. The doctor put the bread he had been eating on the table and swallowed the bite he had taken before saying, "Take off the bandages, boy." Then he went to the fire, lit once more by some ambiguous servants in the early hours of the morning, and pulled the metal rod from the flames, the end glowed a dull red. To Malik's startled look, the doctor assured, "I will make it quick, try not to think about it."

Nodding, Malik looked away and laced his bloodied fingers together as he waited. It was with steady hands that the doctor held the edges of the wound together as the end of the rod went over them, sealing the skin together again. As he did this, Malik clenched his fists and let out a pained hiss. But it was soon over. What was left was a quick wash over the now re-closed wound and then bandaging it.

"Now you rest, boy," the doctor said in a lecturing sort of way. "And no getting out of bed."

With a nod, Malik seated himself again before something sparked on his face. He then got up again and started for the door. Of course, Kadar tried to stop him.

"The doctor said to stay in bed," he reminded.

Malik disregarded that as secondary though, and stepped around him to get to the door. Kadar gripped his wrist now in his attempt to hold him back.

"Please, don't make it worse." He whined.

"This is important, Kadar," Malik claimed pulling his hand back and reaching for the door. "I need to report to Al Mualim about the mission."

"But what if you-?"

"I promise, I will be fine."

And before Kadar had a chance to argue further, Malik walked right out of the room.

**Yeah, Malik REALLY wants to report on that mission. Sound familiar? *coughcough*Faheem *coughcough***

**Anyways, I know it's been a while since I updated, but I hope you like what I've given. And I hope you don't mind my time skipping.**

**Don't forget to leave a comment, because I do go through every single one I get and I absolutely love to read them.**


	6. Chapter 6

Fever left Malik unbalanced as he worked his way up the stairs to Al Mualim's study. His hand went to his side, which flared in pain with each step up. The more he moved, the worse he felt. And the worse he felt, the more his vision blurred and shook, and the worse his nausea became. By now, he begun to accept the fact he was sick. Well sick or not, he still was an assassin - or assassin in training technically - and it was still his job to report to the master on his mission's outcome. Regardless of his condition.

Just like his father did...

He clung to the railing up the stairs until he came to the top, where the floating words of a conversation came to him. Between Al Mualim, Altair, and Abbas.

"Do not give me that look, Abbas, you should have seen this punishment coming the day you refused to listen to me. Is this what you thought I was teaching you? How to disregard the word of your mentor, and even worse, the word of your master?"

"I- I meant no disrespect to you, I just- it- it was not my fault! A-Altair lied! He started this, you should punish him!"

"He will be punished in his own way, but you, Abbas, I'm withholding your promotion to Assassin until a year later. I do not trust your abilities to fight for our order, not until you put aside this pointless squabble."

"But I-!"

"No excuses. Or do you wish for me to pull your promotion back two years for once more disregarding my decision?"

"No."

"Then leave."

There was a muffled sob and Malik saw Abbas leaving on the other side of the balcony.

"As for you, I thought I told you to never speak of Ahmet."

"You had."

"Then why would you go ahead and tell someone, Abbas of all people, about his fate?"

"I did not like watching him suffer the way he was. So I thought it would be the better thing to tell him the truth."

"You remember what I have told you before Altair, our code. Nothing is true-"

"-And everything is permitted. Yes, I know. You've told me this before. But by this logic, it would be fine for me to tell him because I am allowed to do anything."

"Not necessarily, do not neglect the first half of this. If nothing is true, then how can you be so sure about what you saw that night."

"Do you think I could possibly forget it?"

"Our memory is a funny thing. We think we remember when sometimes our view is... twisted. How can any of us be sure what you saw wasn't an exaggeration."

"But you saw the-"

"That is enough from you. Just go, reflect on this if you must."

"Fine."

Malik bit his lip and marched on forward, attempting to ignore his sickly feeling. He felt the back of his neck sweat as he approached. Altair wasn't even given a chance to leave, and he simply stared at Malik in dumb shock.

"I thought you were still recovering," Altair said.

With a quick breath to better settle his stomach, Malik nodded. "I am, but I needed to speak to Al Mualim, about the mission."

"Ah yes," the old man said with a pondering look, "I suppose you have not been here to tell me of your outcome." He looked to Altair, "You see, boy? This is exactly what I expect from my students. Malik even understands to report back to me."

The praise was most unexpected to Malik, but he accepted it. It felt better than listening to Altair get praised all the time. But judging by the other's face he couldn't stand it, his brows lowered and his jaw tensed. Even his hands were curled into fists.

"So what was the mission," Altair asked. The effort to restrain himself was clear in his tone.

"That is for me to know and for you to wonder." Malik said simply.

Mualim seemed unconcerned with Altair's presence, as he made no move to tell him to leave. "The targets I pointed out to you, did any of them fit the crime?"

Altair seemed extremely interested, but confused. All for good reason, he had no way of knowing what they were talking about. And that just was like giving a child a new toy, they usually wouldn't give it up so soon. Just as this, Malik played out giving nothing away to those who knew none.

"Yes, one did. I was close but he saw me before I had a chance to really strike." He said.

"Who? What crime?" Altair questioned, looking from the master to Malik with very close to frustration, if not that already.

But of course, like taking that shiny, new toy from the child, Al Mualim bothered to answer Altair's questions. "I had some suspicions on who might be Faheem's killer."

"So you would send him of all people to do it?" Altair wondered aloud, earning an angry glare from Malik and an irritated one from Mualim.

"Oh, and what is your reasoning?"

"Is it not true that Malik takes Faheem's death the hardest, even Kadar has gotten over himself."

"You understand nothing about this," Malik snapped, voice cracking - like most boys that age. "I have more-!"

"Malik," Mualim cut off, staring the older of the two boys down. "Calm yourself now. And Altair, if anything, these hurt feelings you claim Malik possesses is the very reason I think he is perfect for the mission."

"But you always said we need a level head in order to see the mission through cleanly." Altair argued.

"But you also must have a determination to see the mission through," he returned. "Why are you so upset with this, Altair? Faheem's death does not involve you."

For what seemed to be a moment, some sort of guilt flashed on Altair's face. And with the voice of a little kid caught with his hand in the sweets jar, Altair said, "Faheem was..." He shook his head and turned away to leave.

"My father was what?" Malik questioned, the curiosity was clear.

The other boy's shoulders sagged a moment as he stated, "Nothing. I clearly am mistaken." Then he was gone.

Al Mualim paid Altair's departure no sort of thought and returned to the matter at hand. "So you found the likely suspect of your father's murder."

"Yes, I have," Malik said, still staring at where Altair had been standing before looking at his hands. Training left them calloused and dirty, sometimes the dry skin would crack and bleed, and scars left splotches and dashes of pale, tougher skin on his fingers and palms. "But he knew I was there and I could not find an opening."

The old man drew a deep breath, as if trying to calm his nerves. This would be a horrible excuse coming from a Master Assassin, but not a student. No, the only thing protecting Malik from a verbal lashing was he inexperience. This had been his first real mission alone. "You best not get to comfortable then."

"I am sorry, really I am. I should have-!" His feeble excuses were quickly ended.

"That is not the reason, you misunderstand." Al Mualim said. "You best not get comfortable, because as soon as you are well, you will go out and track your target again, and htis time finish the job."

He nodded, a bit relieved. "Yes, of course."

"Go, best rest now so you can recover." Said the master turning to his books.

Malik left and returned to the doctor's room, where Kadar was sitting on the bed. His brother looked up eagerly, "So what did Al Mualim say?"

"As soon as I am well, I need to go after my target again," Malik said, sitting down on the bed. He realized now how weak his knees were, and how much his throat hurt.

**Sorry this took me. But anyway, I'm still building up that rivalry between Altair and Malik. And next will be the first real mission. The thing is that no one really knows what happened during this span of time, so I have to make it up as I go. Hope this is good.**


	7. Chapter 7

A week later, Malik found himself on his way back to Damascus. Oddly enough, Al Mualim decided to make a safety precaution - or maybe not one, it could also have been another way to teach them to work as a team - and send Altair and Abbas with him. Kadar, thankfully, was too inexperienced. So this was work for the big boys. Well, big boy and a pair of bickering morons.

It was probably the biggest relief though when they were hitching their horses at the stables. The whole ride here was composed of Altair asking a question, Abbas taunts Altair's ignorance, they bicker for several minutes, Malik shuts them up through shouting over them/throwing something at them, he finally answers, Altair asks another question, repeat.

Forget Malik, those two and their squabbling were enough to drive the most calm and patient of men insane.

With a heavy sigh, Malik ignored the two as another heated argument flared up over Altair "stealing" Abbas's spot in the stables. Those two seem to argue for the sake of arguing now. Letting them both settle it themselves, he went on ahead to see what he could find out about his target.

He leaned against a wall at the market and dipped his head down, hoping no one here would recognize him - the kid who caused a bit of terror almost three weeks ago. Thankfully, it seemed no one noticed him.

Market places, as he came to learn from his last trip here, were a gold mine of gossip. It was how he figured out his father's killer last time. And sure enough, the talkative people were still going on about the chaos. Mainly merchants and guards.

"It seems like this city gets no rest from the panic."

"I know, first a huge fight ensues, and two assassins get away barely alive, then some runt comes in and tries to assault Ilyas."

"Poor man, I hear he hardly leaves his home now out of fear of being attacked."

_Perfect,_ Malik mused to himself. At least he knew now there would be less interference this time. Now to check in with the Bureau Leader, Nizar. He back tracked to the stables, where Abbas was still trying to grind an ear full to Altair, who now took to turning away and starting off in that direction.

"If the two of you are through with this squabble, we can report to the Bureau and get on with this mission." Malik interrupted.

Abbas shut up and nodded. While Altair spun on a heel to face him and state, "You still haven't told us anything about our target."

Malik crossed his arms. "That would be easier if I wasn't cut off every time."

"Then by all means, get to it!" Altair replied.

For whatever reason, Altair was more eager about this assignment than he probably should have been. Maybe it was his first crack at a real assassination. But if that was the case, then why didn't Malik feel so excited? For some reason, he started feeling anxious and irritable. The only thing keeping him from pulling out was the need to avenge his father. It's all he had. He wished he could say that he could still confine in Kadar, but his brother had taken to spending more and more time with Altair. The little duckling of a brother he had went off to follow an eagle. He'd only get himself hurt.

* * *

It was much later, dark now, when three short figures slunk into the Bureau. At his desk, Nizar glanced up a moment before turning back down to his ingredients. They'd certainly make a pleasing scent, and certainly would be strong enough to mask the stench of blood left over from a recent messy death.

"How did it go? I do not hear the bells." He stated to the three novices who now stood not far from the doorway.

"Ilyas is dead," the lighter haired boy, Altair, answered. "No thanks to some people."

The tallest of the three, Abbas, snapped a glare at him, "I was shoved in a barrel! What do you expect me to do?!"

"Why did you let yourself get shoved in one in the first place?" Nizar questioned.

Abbas was quick to answer in order to defend his pride. "This big oaf cannot keep quiet, and got our target's attention. I just so happened to be the closest."

Nizar smirked, "Indeed." He then looked to the only one who remained completely silent. "You have not said a word, Malik, was this not what you wanted?"

There wasn't an answer. The boy stared absently at his feet.

"Malik?" The Bureau Leader repeated, trying to get his attention. But no response was given.

"He hasn't said word since I killed Ilyas," Altair told him, "is that normal?"

"No," Abbas answered, "we're assassins. Killing is what we are born to do. Malik is just a big baby. I mean he had the man right in the perfect position and he just didn't do anythi- OW!" Abbas jumped as Nizar loosened his grip on the rolled up map in his hands.

"That's enough out of you," the adult said, "some are less blood thirsty than others. This is no sign of weakness, so get that through your head." He took a deep breath and looked face to face. "Now go to the courtyard and get some rest. You will need it when you travel back to Masyaf."

All three boys turned to leave the room, Abbas's shoulders sagging a little. As he and Altair passed the threshold of the room, Nizar picked up his cane and limped around his desk and placed a calloused hand on Malik's shoulder, stopping the boy.

"Now you, I would like to talk to," he said in his almost characteristic monotonous voice.

Malik seemed utterly stiff. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, child." Nizar assured. "There are just some things I am certain you would feel better hearing."

The boy didn't move so much as a muscle until Nizar's hand released his shoulder, then he faced the man with tired, guilt-ridden eyes. The stocky Bureau Leader gave him a rare flash of a calm smile and led him over to the chess table, where he sat down. Malik followed suit.

"Do you like playing chess?" Nizar asked, starting to set up the pieces. He decided to let Malik be white.

"Not really. I think Abbas does though," relied the younger.

Placing down pawns, he stated, "I was not looking for information about Abbas. This question was for you."

"And I answered," Malik remarked.

"Indeed you did," Nizar agreed. "You know, your father loved chess. He was one of the best players I knew; I had only beaten him a handful of times out of the hundreds of times we played. Did you know that?"

Malik shook his head. "I know he was good. But I thought he always won against Kadar and I because we are not good at the game."

Nizar begun to adopt a saddened smile. "Faheem was a good man. I grew up along side him, trained with him, and we shared many missions together in our earlier years."

"What made you stop and become a Bureau Leader," Malik wondered.

"One mission we had, there had been an incident," Nizar explained, "We were to investigate a string of murders around here in Damascus. But I found myself near victim to this serial killer. Faheem narrowly saved me in a dirty alley at the cost of use in my whole right leg. He practically carried me back home, and with my leg paralyzed as it was, I was not able to climb anymore. The only place I could have in the Order was as a Bureau Leader, and it is such a position I did not hesitate to take."

Malik nodded. "That must be horrible."

"Eh... It could have been worse," Nizar shrugged, and watched as Malik made his first move. "One needs to learn to look at the good in all situations. I still have full use of my left leg. And I can sort of move the right one very slightly, though I cannot feel it. You young novices need to be taught how to see these bright spots, or you could end up like another friend of mine did. Poor Ahmet never could get over his stress issues."

"What ever happened to him?" He asked.

Nizar shrugged a little. "I do believe he died." A smack on the forehead and then a light laugh. "Oh wait, I do apologize, I guess Al Mualim wishes to address it as 'left the Order' so keep your lips locked up tight."

"How do you know?"

"A hunch, I suppose." He looked down at the chess board and moved one of his knights. "Ever since I received word of the incident itself and the events leading to it, I just find it hard to believe that he would walk out of the Brotherhood. That is not his way of handling matters, and I fear his 'way' might run in the family, so keep an eye on that Abbas friend of yours."

"He is not my friend." Malik grumbled, pushing up another pawn forward, which resulted in Nizar taking it with his bishop.

"Perhaps not," Nizar replied. "But I suppose you know I did not keep you here to regale you with my thoughts on a closed topic such as that."

The boy looked from the chess board curiously. "Then what?"

Toying with his knight, he answered, "I was hoping you could tell me what had happened on your mission. You looked disturbed when you came in here."

"Altair's right. I am a coward," Malik mumbled. "I could not bring myself to kill Ilyas. He had children, and they were in the room watching, and I just... How can I bring myself to push my own pain on people I haven't even met?"

Nizar pondered this a moment and decided to purposely give up his knight. "What you did then was not cowardice in the slightest. In fact, I wish more had this sense of morals."

"But if Altair had not jumped in and killed Ilyas, then we all would have failed the mission," Malik pointed out, a bit surprised by Nizar's statement.

With a sigh, Nizar watched his knight be killed by one of Malik's pawns. "Al Mualim assigned you this mission for two reasons."

"I thought he wanted to avenge my father," Malik put in.

"But that was never his intention in the slightest, boy," Nizar told him, "the old man works in strange ways. His gain in allowing for this assassination was to appease you and your brother so you both could return your focus to training. It also allowed him the chance to try teaching you, Altair, and Abbas to work together. Though I doubt nothing changed there. To him, Faheem was just another one of his knights he needed to give up to ensure his goal was closer in reach. Umar was no different. And Ahmet was an unwitting pawn, as am I and you."

"Then why go out of his way for pawns?" Malik asked. "They have little use."

Nizar laughed a little. "Pawns, boy, are in all just as important as your other pieces. Pawns move forward and protect other pieces. They hold the line as long as possible until you or your opponent choose to break it. Believe me, he needs pawns just as badly as he needs a knight. He probably would want me lashed for forgiving your hesitation, but I think how you acted today could eventually make you greater than a pawn."

There was a long pause and Malik changed the topic. "So my father liked to play chess?"

"Whenever he got the chance," Nizar replied.

"Could you teach me?"

A crinkled smile. "I would be delighted."

**I know, I haven't posted anything in forever and a half. I was writing this chapter, but it didn't come out the way I wanted so I changed it drastically. Originally, I was going to show the chase scene, but I'm not the best at this kind of stuff. Then it was Abbas who kills the target and punches Malik for being "a big baby". But like I said, I didn't like how it was so I rewrote the whole thing. This time the Bureau Leader is more important, and will continue to be in the next chapter.**


	8. Chapter 8

For a time after the mission in Damascus, things in Masyaf seemed normal. Of course, Malik sat out a lot and thought about his conversation with Nizar frequently. But that was to be expected. Altair and Abbas quarrelled as always, and Kadar would follow the former around like a lost puppy. It seemed quiet. Almost peaceful even.

The atmosphere, unfortunately, took a drastic nose dive into the ravine one early morning. Malik stood tiredly out in the courtyard, wedged between at least several grown men, after being woken up by Kadar - who had been too frantic to explain the situation. It was still cold out, as the sun hadn't even dipped above the horizon yet. This was very early indeed.

Malik soon found himself not far away from Abbas, mere feet in fact, when Al Mualim appeared on the front steps of the castle. The old man's voice bellowed loud enough for everyone to hear, carried on by the echo the walls produced. "My people, Master Assassins to Scholars, we all know the trust we must put in one another. This trust is what makes us greater than those who chose to attack us and our home. I place my faith in every one of you, because I believe that all of you can be trusted to do your jobs and faithfully. But someone among us has been deceiving us; poisoning the minds of our students."

Curiously, some people looked around. Malik caught a grin beginning to play on Abbas's face. He started to feel his stomach twist, this couldn't be good.

Al Mualim continued on. "I believed him to be a man of honor. Perhaps I let the memory of his deceased friends cloud my judgement. The Bureau Leader of Damascus, Nizar, was a threat to our order and our trust. A threat which has now been dealt with."

Malik's eyes grew wide. "No." He snapped his stare to Abbas as he put two and two together. "No. Abbas! Why would you-?" He went ahead and grabbed him by the shoulders. "He had done nothing wrong!"

Abbas disengaged Malik from him and stated before slinking away into the crowd, "I refuse to let my father's name be slandered, Malik. I do not tolerate liars."

"I will choose the next Bureau Leader very carefully now," Al Mualim went on, Malik was hardly listening now, "Unless told otherwise, return to your normal affairs."

* * *

After a few hours, Malik was called to Mualim's library. He silently stepped up and watched the old man writing something. But when he noticed the boy, he looked up and replaced his quill in the ink jar.

"You summoned me?" Malik asked.

He nodded, "I did. As you can assume, this is on the matter of what Nizar told you."

"What about it?" The boy wondered.

"What he told you, almost everything, were lies fabricated by an angry cripple," Al Mualim told him. "The only things I can assure you is true are the incident that led to his placement in the bureau and Faheem's uncanny chess skills. The rest are false. Ahmet did leave the Order, in the dead of night without a word. And your hesitation was only a sign of weakness. If I need to then I will show you the punishment for this hesitation. Failure is not tolerated, and you know this."

"Yes, it was make clear to me a while back," Malik assured. "But what reason would he have to lie?"

"Your curiosity is a dangerous thing, I would watch it if I were you," he warned. "You only need to know that you can trust my word, as I only want what is best for the Order. Nizar was a threat to it, so he needed to be put to death. I did not hesitate, Malik. And from now on, neither will you, correct?" A pause without an answer, the Grand Master repeated, "_Correct_?"

For the 13 year old, there was something genuinely scary about the situation. What if he said no? Or would hesitate again? Would he be thrown in the dungeons? Or would he be forced to leave the Order?

He didn't want that to happen. Masyaf was his home, and he loved it dearly. That in mind, he answered Mualim with a sincere, "No, Grand Master."

"Good," Al Mualim responded before adding, "You will do as you're told, boy."

"Yes, I will," Malik affirmed.

He was dismissed, and without a moment of hesitation, he quickly shuffled out. On that day, he started convincing himself that he could only trust in the Order and its tenets.

**I know. No Altair this chapter. This was more my way of explaining why Malik became so devoted to the creed. I've also been considering going as far as continuing up to the first game, though I'm not sure yet.**  
**Anyways, thanks for what reviews I've been receiving. It always brings up my day when I see your feedback.**


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